I stopped in front of the cupboard.
The door was still open.
For 39 years, I had walked past that locked door without asking myself the difficult questions. I had convinced myself that it was a form of trust.
“He did most of the work.”
Perhaps in fact, it was just the fear of discovering that the man I loved was not who I thought he was.
I never locked that door again. Not because I didn’t believe in having a private life, but because I understood that silence and shame are not necessarily the same thing.
My Thomas was an honorable man who took care of his family, even when he thought he couldn’t do so openly.
I wish he had told me the truth while he was still alive, but the least I can do for him now is to honor the family he left behind.
Silence and shame are not necessarily the same thing.
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